Mr. Renhart, who had been sleeping in a hammock on their boat, struggled to sit up, finally tipping out of the sling and slamming onto the deck. “Shut up, damn dog!” he yelped.
Mrs. Renhart rushed out to check on the commotion.
“What’s the problem, silver beastie?” she asked as she scooped up the dog and buried her nose in her fur. “Did Daddy scare you?”
Mr. Renhart struggled to his feet, scowling, and stomped back indoors. Schnootie tried to wiggle out of her arms, still barking. Mrs. Renhart looked over at us.
“Schnootie,” she said, “it’s only Santa’s elves. Were you a good doggie this year? Mommy’s going to take you to the drag bar later to have your picture taken with Santa and those great big pretty ladies.” She cracked a huge smile. “That’s going to be our Christmas card photo this year.”
Miss Gloria burst out laughing. I bit my lip to keep from joining her, not wanting to hurt our neighbor’s feelings. But Schnootie posing with drag queens? I started to giggle.
“Anyway, so sorry about all the ruckus,” Mrs. Renhart said. “Schnootie didn’t recognize you in those outfits. She must have thought you were men. She doesn’t even like Mr. R., especially since he’s started growing that silly beard.” She ducked her chin at the door through which her outraged husband had retreated.
Schnootie wasn’t the only one with mixed feelings about Mr. Renhart. Still chuckling, Miss Gloria and I both removed our hats and the dog quieted immediately. Mrs. Renhart motioned good-bye with Schnootie’s paw and returned to her houseboat’s cabin.
“I’m off to Bayview Park,” I told Miss Gloria. “You’ll recognize our float when we go by—I suspect we’ll be the only elves dancing in a key lime pie.”
I drove the short blocks to the tennis courts, which were jammed with frolicking parade participants waiting to take their places. With the police presence prominent, the homeless fellows who often gathered in the park at night had settled elsewhere. As I found the Key Zest float, the parade marshal blew a whistle and announced the start. I hopped into the back of the golf cart with Danielle and we headed out.
Wally glanced over his shoulder. “You ladies look adorable. If I were Santa, I’d be very happy with my staff.”
“You are Santa,” Danielle said with a laugh.
I tried to look and act lighthearted, stopping myself from asking the obvious question: Was he happy with us as his staff at the magazine, even though Ava obviously wasn’t? Now was not the time for a serious conversation.
For the next half hour, the parade lurched down Truman. We grabbed handfuls of candy from our burlap sacks and distributed them to the kids clustered on the sidewalks. When the action slowed, we danced to “Jingle Bell Rock” in front of the cart. In the parking lot of Bare Assets, I spotted Tony with a small group of homeless men, drinking beer and smoking.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Danielle and darted into the crowd.
Tony did a double take when he saw me. “Wow, nice duds,” he said.
I jingled my bells. “I guess you heard about the fire on the bight.” Of course he would have heard about it—everyone would. In the flickering red-and-green lights flashing on the Metropolitan Community Church float as it rumbled by, the expression on his face shifted from friendly to guarded.
He pulled on his cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. “We heard,” he said. “Cops have been all over us, wanting to know if we know the guy who died. Are any of the homeless guys missing? What did we see? What did we hear?” He jutted his chin out and then spat on the sidewalk behind me. “We don’t know. None of us. People come and go in this town, and they don’t sign out on some damn master attendance list. None of us saw anything, either.” He dropped the burning cigarette and ground it into the pavement. “You working for them now?”
“The cops? Hardly,” I said. “Only trying to help a friend. And keep my job.” I sighed and turned away. No point in pressing any harder—he wasn’t in a sharing mood. His reaction did raise a question, though: Why were the police pressing the vagrants so hard? In my experience, it took a lot to piss Tony off. A man couldn’t afford to be too sensitive, living off the grid in Key West. I trotted back to the parade and hopped in the cart just as Wally took off again.
“Everything all right?” Danielle asked, a worried frown on her lips. “He didn’t look very happy with you. That face he made was scary.”
I shrugged. “We’re all under pressure right now.”
Wally slowed down the cart and looked over his shoulder. “I’m sorry about the scene in the office this morning. I know you two are concerned about the direction we’re going with the magazine. I’ll do everything I can to make this a win-win-win-win.”
Danielle grabbed for the seat back in front of us and screeched, “Watch out!” Wally jammed on the brakes, nearly missing smashing into the float just ahead—a flatbed truck loaded with kids and adults wearing flannel pajamas, gathered around a chimney and waiting for Santa. Then I spotted my mother with Miss Gloria, Sam, Cassie, and Joe. And right in the middle of all of them, Edel.
I hopped back off the cart, distributed a dozen candy canes, and waded through the crowd to my family. “You’re the cutest elf in the whole parade,” my mother said. “Come meet us for a drink at the Turtle Kraals when you’re finished? I promised Sam steamed shrimp and grilled wings. And look who we picked up.” She tousled Edel’s hair as only a mother could get away with.
“See you there,” I said, and returned to our mini float. The parade lurched off Truman onto Duval Street, where the crowds were massive. Danielle and I took our sacks of candy and walked ahead of our cart. I waved and passed out candy and yelled “Merry Christmas” to the onlookers—feeling both part of something big and at the same time, part of nothing. Quicksand, that’s what my life felt like at this moment.
I reminded myself that many of these tourists would give their grandmother’s secret recipe for sugar cookies to be in my position, living in paradise. Something would work out with Key Zest—it just had to. And if my job was cut, I’d find something else to do. Even if it meant cleaning houses for a while, as I’d done when I first moved here. Wasn’t a little bit of hard labor supposed to be good for the soul? That’s what my father used to say when he told me to take out the garbage. And if things didn’t work out with Wally, well, there were other men in the world. Lots of them. Maybe not as sweet and cute, but my mother would jump on that challenge like white on rice.
We made our final turn onto Eaton Street and Wally pulled the cart over to the curb. As Danielle and I packed the candy away and gathered our belongings, Ava and her two investors materialized beside our float. “I’d like to take our guests out for a bite. Can you come?” she asked Wally, not even looking at Danielle and me.
He squinted uncomfortably and fumbled for the right words. “Can you make room for Hayley and Danielle?”
I cut him off, forcing a big, regretful smile before Ava could say she’d make room for us at her table when hell froze over. “I’d so love to join you, but I’m meeting my family for a drink in a few minutes.”
“And I,” said Danielle as she twirled her cap and swiveled her hips, “have a date.”
“Settled, then,” said Ava to Wally. “I’ll text you about where we are.”
The three of us watched her go.
“She’s the rudest person I’ve ever met,” said Danielle. “She was probably a mean girl in junior high school—and a cheerleader. The kind of girl who invited other cool kids to her birthday party right in front of the dorks and geeks. And her parents probably let the kids drink in their basement when they were in high school. And the girls went to third base and ruined their reputations, and she’s spent the past fifteen years trying to prove she really is worth something more than a quick poke in the cellar.”
Wally looked stunned.
“Thank you, Dr. Danielle,” I said with a snicker. “You’ve nailed her psyche. We should remember that it’s not about us; it’s about her in
security. Do you want help putting the cart away?” I asked Wally.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ll park over by the harbor and then drive back to New Town when we’re finished.” He shrugged apologetically. “She is rude. And ordinarily I would have told her to invite all of us or stick it. But I’m afraid to leave her alone with those people. You know what they say… .”
Danielle finished his sentence. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
13
Why—at this point in history—do we need a “Best Female Chef” special designation? As if they are curiosities?
—Anthony Bourdain on Twitter
I jingled through the crowds that had flocked to the harbor, trying to enjoy the party atmosphere and the twinkling holiday lights wound along the railings of the docks and in the shop windows and on the masts and sails and booms of boats. Only Edel’s restaurant was dark, still reeking of charred wood. An official-looking paper from the state fire marshal had been pasted to the front door, informing potential customers that the establishment would be closed until further notice. I hoped that my mother had walked a different route with Edel to Turtle Kraals. The sight of her restaurant—boarded up instead of bursting with opening-night excitement as had been planned—was utterly depressing. And I wasn’t the one watching my reputation and money sink into the depths of the harbor. If I felt a little discouraged tonight, imagine how it would feel to be Edel. How desperately she would be wishing for things to work out, especially if she’d been circling the drain in New York City before she came south.
I passed the pile of lobster pots stacked into the shape of an enormous Christmas tree and reached the Turtle Kraals restaurant, only yards from the dock where we’d landed in Ray’s motorboat with my injured stepbrother last spring. Standing at the entrance to the restaurant, I scanned the buzzing crowd, searching for my family. Sam stood up and waved from the corner near one of the windows open to the harbor.
“The parade was wonderful this year,” said Miss Gloria when I reached their table.
“Just charming!” said my mother, as I took the only empty seat in between Cassie and Joe. “Key West at Christmas is simply magical. I can’t think of anyplace else in the world I’d rather be. And your outfit is adorable.”
“Thanks. Doesn’t rank high in comfort, however.” I grimaced and adjusted the skirt, which was seriously annoying by now—both the scratchy fabric and the big safety pin cut into my waistline, reminding me there was a little more flesh than I’d like there to be. “I’d like to loosen the waistband, but I’d lose the whole dang thing altogether.”
The waitress swung by long enough for me to order a Key West pale ale and a second platter of steamed shrimp. The first order had been decimated to a pile of shells and bay leaves by my family.
Mom lowered her voice and leaned in. “We were just discussing Edel’s fire. The cops still don’t have a bead on who did it. And they refuse to release the name of the person who died.” She patted Edel’s hand and then touched her flushed cheek. “It’s very hard to live with this much uncertainty.”
“It may be a matter of informing the next of kin first,” said Sam. “No one wants to read about the death of their loved one in the local paper.”
“You’re totally right,” said Mom. “They need to do things in the right order.”
“So, there had been incidents in the kitchen before the fire,” Cassie said to Edel. “Tell us again about what happened.”
Edel’s gaze swung over to me, glowering.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shared a few things with my family. They know how to keep a secret.” Which they didn’t.
Mom nodded with encouragement.
Edel slumped, her elbow on the sticky table, her chin in her hand. “Several of the recipes in the bible had been changed.” She looked exhausted, the skin under her eyes dark like the color of an approaching thunderstorm. “I know you’re going to ask which ones, but they won’t let me into the damn kitchen so I can’t tell you a lot more. I’ve been so tired and so upset, it’s hard to think straight.”
Cassie sat up, suddenly attentive. “You must have had a gut reaction when you saw the desecration of your recipes. And, chances are, remembering that reaction, those feelings, will bring back the memory of what was destroyed.”
Sheer gobbledegook, I thought unkindly.
But Edel appeared to be buying it—studying Cassie’s face and nodding. “It wasn’t an old standby, like the spaghetti Bolognese. That I could make in my sleep. And, besides, I would rarely think of serving that to paying customers.”
“They would find it worth every penny,” I inserted.
She gave a distracted smile, then focused back on Cassie. “I think it had more to do with temperature.” Her face lit up. “Like the stir-fried spring vegetables on cheesy polenta. What makes that dish completely special is the Parmesan crisps.”
My mother moaned with pleasure. “If only we could have a few bites of that now.”
“Instead of four hundred degrees, the recipe called for four hundred seventy-five,” Edel said. “Which would have baked the crisps to cinders before the chef even thought to check on them. Of course, someone not so familiar with the recipe …”
“Someone in a hurry, as restaurant chefs so often are,” Cassie added, “might not notice before it was too late.”
Edel grinned. “You really understand food. Thank you.”
I had to pinch myself to keep from saying something crusty. After talking with Eric on the golf course, I realized that my feelings had to do with old memories. And that Cassie had probably matured—and hopefully I had, too. But, honestly, my cousin understood nothing about food and cooking. Even her own husband had admitted yesterday that the sole dish she knew how to make was hot dog casserole, in which the secret ingredients were ketchup and canned beans.
“And then there was doctoring of the sauce,” Edel continued. “Hayley was there for that.” Her gaze flickered over to me. “All the regular staff were there. Same with the canola caper. The peanut oil switcheroo.” She barked a mirthless laugh.
“So, you’re thinking one of the staff members might have been behind those things,” Joe said. “Someone who knew his way around the kitchen. The fire, too?”
“Torching my restaurant takes this vendetta to another level altogether,” said Edel.
“You should try not to take it personally,” Cassie said. “I’ve learned the hard way that people who try to take down other people do so because of their own issues, and because their envy poisons them. It has nothing to do with who you are.”
Edel nodded sadly.
“I remember the back door to the kitchen was open both of the days I visited,” I said, picturing my view from the perch on the stool. “It was hot in there.”
“Goes with the territory,” Edel said. “That’s why we have those big fans running all the time. No air conditioner in the world could run hard enough to cool the kitchen, so I keep the screen door open so we can breathe. And, besides, the dishwashers are running in and out with sacks of trash. And half the workers are smokers.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “It’s Grand Central Station in that back courtyard and the alley.”
“But would you notice if someone you didn’t recognize slipped into the kitchen?” Cassie asked.
“I’d like to think I would,” Edel said. “But I spend time in the dining room, too. It’s also my job to schmooze with the diners.” She sighed heavily. “Frankly, I’d much rather think the arsonist was someone I didn’t know. Not someone close to me. Someone who knows how much this restaurant means to me but who tried to destroy it anyway? That would break my heart.”
My mother put an arm around her shoulders.
The waitress delivered my beer and the basket of steaming shrimp. Suddenly starving, I reached for the top shrimp and began to peel away the skin. I dunked it into the spicy cocktail sauce and popped the whole thing in my mouth. Across the table mom’s eyes widened, and I
glanced over my left shoulder, still chewing.
Wally had gotten up from a table at the other end of the bar and he was heading toward us. Seated at the table behind him were Ava and the two investors. The woman, still dressed in her woodpecker attire, waved at me. The man, who had changed out of his suit into khaki shorts and a loud red-and-green Hawaiian shirt, did not. Wally stopped beside me; his hand brushed the back of my head and rested for a moment on my neck. This felt like the kind of intimate gesture that went along with two people who were involved. Cassie raised her eyebrows. I flushed.
“So nice to see you all,” he said, grinning around the table.
“Come over here and give me a hug,” said Mom. She popped out of her seat and folded him in close, then held him out at arm’s length, her hands gripping his shoulders. “How in the world are you? And how is your mother?”
“She’s holding her own, and thanks for asking.” He patted her arms and took a step back. “We finished the third round of chemotherapy and we won’t have to return to the doctor for a while. She’ll go in for tests after the holidays, so she’s trying to enjoy life and not think too much about the future. So it’s a respite.”
Sam clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a hearty handshake. “We’re glad you’re still standing.”
Wally nodded, and glanced around the table at the others.
“This is my niece Cassie and her husband, Joe. You must know Edel Waugh.” Mom pointed at the chef.
Wally’s eyes widened and he forced a smile. “So nice to meet all of you. I’d better get back to my group.” His fingers brushed my neck again, but this time the contact didn’t feel so friendly. “Hayley, could I speak with you for a minute?”
I stood up and followed him a few steps away.
“Not such a good idea to be out with her,” he whispered through gritted teeth. “It doesn’t look right.” He jerked his head toward Ava.
Death With All the Trimmings: A Key West Food Critic Mystery Page 9
